The Girl with the Creel Read online

  The gnome-like white-headed figure let his burning eyes circle round his now wide-awake congregation, searching for the nervous, give-away signs of those who had sinned during the week, or were contemplating sinning in the week to come. ‘Yes, my friends!’ he thundered. ‘The Lord can see right into the wicked hearts of those who do not heed His laws, and He has a long memory. They will be punished – if not at the time, at some time in the future – in a way befitting the nature of their sin.’

  His eyes lit upon Lizann at this point, and for the first time in her life she felt herself shrivelling under his concentrated gaze. Had she sinned without knowing it? Was it wrong to dream of being kissed? No, it couldn’t be. What would be the harm in just dreaming? But she’d been praying that the dreams would come true tonight, that Peter really would kiss her.

  The slamming of the big Bible made her jump, and she was glad that the minister had turned his eyes to heaven away from her. ‘Amen,’ he chanted, ‘and may the Lord add His blessings to these readings from His holy word!’ He lowered his head then, revealing a small bald circle at his crown, and the two elders whose duty it was that day sent the collection plates (wooden handled and lined with red velvet) off along the pews, starting at the front rows – more expensive and cushioned with leather – where the most affluent townspeople sat.

  During the uncomfortable silence which lasted throughout this ritual, Lizann took a surreptitious glance around her, unwilling to believe that the Reverend Crawford could suspect any of the people sitting within her range of vision to be in need of saving. None of them could ever have sinned nor would sin in the future, not even Mick … or would he? He was a bit of a lad amongst the girls, or so he made out to her.

  The minister had descended from the pulpit to stand behind the altar, where the elders now laid their heavy burdens. Most parishioners could afford only a silver coin, few as much as a half crown, but there was a sprinkling of paper money, brown ten-shilling notes, pound notes in the different colours of the various Scottish banks, and reclining regally on top – dug up from underneath and strategically placed in full view by the elder on his way down the aisle – one large white English fiver. This, as everyone knew, had been donated by the frail widow of a long deceased skipper of a whaler whose fortune, as everyone also knew, would come to the church when she passed on.

  Lizann often puzzled over this. How could the poor woman believe God was good when He had taken her husband from her as still quite a young man? Not only her husband. According to the huge black marble headstone in the kirkyard, their three sons had been ‘taken to God’s bosom on the same day’, which was a fancy way of saying they’d all gone to the bottom of the sea with their sailing ship.

  The Reverend Crawford let his eyes skim over the money before giving thanks for the bounteous goodness of his flock, and after the last hymn he held his arms aloft to give the benediction. According to their age and ability, the men, women and children stood up quickly, or slowly, or painfully, and remained standing until the blessing was over and he had walked past them on his way to the door.

  The shuffling queue waiting to shake his hand took a long time to reach the heavy portal, but, anxious as she was to find out, Lizann didn’t dare to ask her brother anything until they were clear of the church. ‘Mick, why is it only Thou-Shalt-Nots he goes on about? Surely somewhere in the Bible there must be some Thou-Shalts?’

  Mick cocked his head to the side for a moment and then grinned. ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me, how does that suit you?’

  ‘Och you! It still means something we shouldn’t do.’

  His face sobered. ‘Did you do something you shouldn’t with Peter last night? Is that what’s got you so worried?’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ she protested. ‘I never did anything, and neither did he.’ Hoping that Peter wouldn’t be so backward tonight, she wished she knew whether or not kissing was a sin. ‘Have you ever broken any of the Commandments, Mick?’

  He roared with laughter at this. ‘All ten, I’d think, at some time or other.’

  ‘You never stole anything?’ she gasped.

  ‘I once took a thruppenny bit off the collection plate when I was a wee laddie, instead of putting in the penny Mother gave me to put in.’

  She was relieved that that was all, but something else had occurred to her. ‘You never coverted anybody’s wife, did you?’

  ‘Many’s the time, and his ox and his ass … well, at any rate, his cat and his dog.’

  He was making fun of her, but she had to laugh with him. ‘I suppose you’ve kissed lots of girls, and all,’ she said, wistfully, after a while. ‘Is that a Shalt-Not?’

  ‘No, kissing’s all right, thank God, or I’d have been struck down years ago.’

  Lizann felt much happier knowing there was no law against it, but back home, she waited until dinner was over before she said, very cautiously, ‘Peter asked me to go out with him tonight.’

  Hannah cast an anxious glance at her husband, who barked, ‘If you’re thinking on going steady wi’ him, you can put it right out o’ your head. For one thing, he’s ower old for you.’

  Keeping his promise, Mick stepped in. ‘Five years is nothing, Father, and it’s not like he’s a stranger.’

  ‘She’s just a bairn!’

  ‘I am not a bairn!’ Lizann cried. ‘I’ll be seventeen in April!’

  ‘That’s still a bairn!’ her father insisted.

  Mick stuck doggedly to his guns. ‘She’s old enough, and if you stop her seeing Peter, she could take up with some scoundrel and …’

  ‘That’s enough!’ his father thundered. ‘It’s nothing to do wi’ you. I’m her father, and I’m not letting her go wi’ anybody yet!’

  ‘But I’ve promised,’ Lizann wailed.

  ‘You’d no right to promise anything without asking me first!’

  ‘You weren’t there to ask,’ she ventured.

  ‘Peter should have had the sense not to …’

  ‘God Almighty!’ Mick said, vehemently. ‘Anybody would think it was still the Dark Ages to hear you. Lassies of fifteen, never mind sixteen, have lads nowadays, and …’

  ‘Not my lassie!’ Willie Alec’s eyes were glittering dangerously.

  ‘It’s no use, Mick,’ Lizann said, her voice breaking, and bursting into tears she ran upstairs.

  Giving his father a venomous glare, Mick charged out, slamming the outside door behind him, and Hannah, who had made no contribution to the argument, rose to clear the table, her lips gripped tightly together.

  Gathering that his wife was also outraged by his decision, Willie Alec shifted himself to his armchair by the fire, but after a few minutes, he said, as if in defence, ‘I’m feared for her, Hannah.’ Getting no answer, he added, ‘She’s innocent as a babe.’ A reply still not forthcoming, he fell silent, but when she was laying the dishes back in the dresser, he muttered, ‘She might take up wi’ the first lad that makes eyes at her, a rotter, maybe, like Mick said, and we ken Peter wouldna …’ Rising, he went purposefully to the foot of the stairs and called his daughter down.

  It wasn’t in him to apologize or admit he’d been wrong, so when Lizann made her reluctant appearance, her eyes still red and puffy, he mumbled, ‘Your mother … we think … ach! You can go out wi’ Peter the night.’

  Her heart leaping, she said, ‘What if he wants us to go steady?’

  After a slight hesitation, her father nodded. ‘But not every night. I just saw your mother once a week when we was courting.’

  Lizann was appalled at this. ‘I’ve only to see him once a week?’

  Her fallen face made him relent. ‘Twice then, but that’s plenty.’ He stood up. ‘I think I’ll take a walk to let my dinner go down.’

  Lizann looked gratefully at her mother when he went out. ‘How did you get him to change his mind?’

  ‘I never said a word to him, it was what Mick said, that and his own conscience. You’ll need to mind, though, just twice a week if Peter as
ks you to go steady, or your father’ll put a stop to it.’

  They sat quietly for the rest of the afternoon – Mick had brought home a wireless set some time ago, but Hannah never allowed anyone to listen to it on Sundays. As Lizann gazed idly at the fireplace, she couldn’t help admiring the shining range, always kept spotless despite being the only means of cooking food and heating water. Since she left school she had been responsible for buffing the steel parts with emery paper until she could see her face in them, using a dampened rag to coat the larger areas with blacklead, then burnishing them with a curved brush with a handle on top. It was hard work, but worth it. And of course, after every meal, the pots – having been set directly on top of the hot coals – had to have the soot scraped off them with the old knife kept for the purpose, before they were washed and laid past in the corner press; the outside of the big black kettle was cleaned with a wire brush every night. There was an oven on each side of the range, one being utilized to dry the sticks one or other of them gathered from the shore for kindling, the other, being hotter and more dependable, produced perfectly baked puddings and roast meat.

  Her eyes moved idly round the room now, to the mantelpiece, crammed with ornaments and fancy shells and edged by a strip of scalloped lace, changed every wash-day; to the lace-screened window that had a geranium on the wide sill; to the little stool she had upturned and pretended was a boat when she was small; to the couch, obviously bought at a different time from the two leather armchairs, whose sagging, cracked seats were covered with lumpy cushions; to the lace antimacassar on the back of her father’s chair – her mother had been a great one for crocheting at one time; returning to the fireplace and the heavy poker resting on a trivet inside the iron fender.

  Willie Alec came home just after quarter to five, had a quick shave, the second that day, and was changing into his Sunday suit in his room when Mick walked in, so Lizann was able to tell him what had happened. ‘And it was thanks to you he changed his mind.’

  ‘Well, well,’ he grinned, ‘wonders’ll never cease. I thought I’d made things worse, sticking my oar in.’

  When their mother and father went to church, Mick put on his jacket. ‘I’m going to see if Jenny’ll get out. When are you meeting Peter?’

  ‘He’s coming for me about seven.’

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ he teased as he went out.

  After washing her face, she went up to her room to brush her hair, then, remembering the papier poudre she had bought at the same time as the lipstick, she took the small packet out of a drawer and removed one leaf. She hadn’t had the courage to use any before the dance, but she found it put a velvety bloom on her face, enhancing the effect of the thin layer of lipstick she applied last. Back in the kitchen, she sat down by the fire to wait for Peter, her insides wobbling like jelly. When the knock came, she was glad he was prompt, for she wanted to be out of the house before her parents came home.

  As they walked westward along the street there was a reserve between them that hadn’t been there the night before, making Lizann sure that he regretted having asked her out, but, once they were clear of Buckpool, he said, ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

  Relieved, she whispered, ‘So’ve I.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘Honest.’

  ‘Did Mick say anything about … about us?’ He sounded anxious.

  ‘He teased me a bit. He said you stuck to me like glue.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to let anybody else … were you angry?’

  ‘No, I liked dancing with you.’

  ‘I never cared much for it before, but it was different with you.’

  They strolled along the open road, with the golf course on their left and the sea on their right, and had almost reached the first houses in Portgordon, about a mile beyond Buckpool and completely independent of Buckie, when he burst out, ‘I’d things I wanted to say, but I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s too soon, and you’d think I was off my head.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  He drew to a halt and turned to face her. ‘You’re the first girl I’ve ever gone out with, Lizann, and I’m not used to saying what I feel. You’ll have to let me take my own time.’

  Wishing that he wasn’t so shy, Lizann said, ‘My father thinks I’m too young to be going out with a lad.’

  ‘And he likely thinks I’m too old for you.’

  ‘He did say that, and all, and Mick argued with him.’

  ‘Mick stuck up for you? I thought he might be annoyed at me for taking possession of his sister.’

  Thinking she was getting somewhere with him, Lizann was disappointed when Peter made an about turn. ‘We’d better go back. I don’t want to keep you out in the cold too long.’

  The return journey was made in the same restrained manner until they were passing his house in Main Street. ‘My Mam and Dad were pleased when I said I was going out with somebody,’ he observed. ‘I think they’ve been a bit worried that I’m twenty-one and never had a girlfriend.’

  She couldn’t understand why this had worried the Taits; her parents worried because her brother had so many. ‘D’you think Mick’s going to stick to Jenny Cowie?’ she asked.

  Peter laughed. ‘Goodness knows. He never sticks long with any of them, but it did look last night as though he was serious about her. I hope he is, for she’d be a good wife to him, she’d steady him.’

  When they arrived at the Yardie again, they stood up outside her door, and she thought that nothing that had gone on tonight would have upset her father. ‘Goodnight, Peter,’ she said, a little regretfully.

  ‘Will you … come out with me tomorrow again?’

  He hadn’t asked her to go steady, but her father’s rule had still to be observed. ‘Not tomorrow. Wednesday, maybe?’

  ‘Oh.’ His voice was flat. ‘That’s a long time away … but Wednesday it is. Goodnight, Lizann.’

  Willie Alec looked surprised when she went inside. ‘You’re back early, it’s not half past eight yet.’

  ‘Peter didn’t want to keep me out in the cold.’

  ‘Aye,’ Hannah smiled, ‘he’s a sensible laddie.’

  Willie Alec nodded. ‘Are you to be seeing him again?’

  ‘He asked me out tomorrow, but I said not till Wednesday.’

  ‘It’s the best way, lass. Now sit down at the fire and get a heat.’

  It had gone half past nine when Mick came in. ‘Is my seabag ready for morning?’ he asked his mother.

  Accustomed to both her men depending on her to do everything for them, Hannah smiled. ‘Your gear’s all in, washed and ready. Your ganzy’s on its last legs, but I’ll have your new one finished for your next trip.’ She knitted all the heavy jerseys for her son and her husband, but only Willie Alec let her knit wheeling wool drawers for him; Mick said they made him scratch and besides, he wasn’t an old mannie yet.

  Yawning, Lizann stood up. ‘The sea air’s made me sleepy.’

  The coldness of her room made her undress quickly, and she was glad of the ‘hot pig’ her mother had put in to take the chill off the linen sheets. But the little warm spot soon cooled down when she shifted the earthenware hot-water bottle down to heat her numb feet, so she took it in her arms and curled round it to try to get warm. She’d had such high expectations for tonight, and Peter hadn’t kissed her yet.

  When the men left in the morning, Hannah wrote out a list of things she needed from the town, and Lizann, having done most of the shopping since she left school two years earlier, set off willingly. She would have loved to have a job of some kind, but her father wouldn’t hear of her going out to work. ‘Mick and me take in enough to keep the house going,’ he said, any time she brought up the subject. ‘A woman’s place is in the home, and your mother’ll learn you everything you need to ken so you’ll be as good a wife to some man as she’s been to me.’

  And so Lizann had been taught how to knit the long seaboot stockings
and heavy jerseys, to patch and darn, and she was now as proficient as Hannah at cooking and baking. She had learned how to gut the fish her father and brother took home, and how to salt the large haddocks and dry them on wire grids until they were bone hard. They kept for a long time, and before being used they were soaked in water to soften them, then boiled and mixed with mashed potatoes and a mustard sauce to make what was known as ‘hairy tatties’, a great favourite with the men.

  Despite these accomplishments, Lizann often wished she could earn some money for herself instead of getting a little pocket money to buy odds and ends, and having to depend on her parents for everything else she needed. This morning, however, as she walked to West Church Street – where there was a better selection than in the small shops in Buckpool – she had something different on her mind. She was convinced that Peter felt more than liking for her, and she could hardly wait till Wednesday when, surely to goodness, he’d have got over being shy with her. Nobody could say it was love at first sight for them, she had known him as long as she could remember, but their eyes had been shuttered until Saturday night.

  She was smiling to herself when she met Peggy May Cordiner, a friend from her schooldays who lived a few doors along Main Street from Jenny Cowie, on the opposite side from the Taits. ‘What are you looking so happy about?’ Peggy May asked. ‘Have you found a lad?’ Lizann’s blush made her go on, eagerly, ‘Who is he? Do I ken him?’

  ‘It’s Peter Tait,’ Lizann told her, rather proudly.

  Peggy May’s green eyes widened. ‘But he’s a lot older than you!’

  ‘Just five year, and he danced every dance with me on Saturday night.’

  Tossing her long blond hair, Peggy May said, ‘Och, is that all you’re on about? I thought …’